


Why Jackson is wearing Stiles' Hoodie

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Series: A Hairy Situation (The Stackson Saga) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Stiles, Lemon, M/M, PWP, Scent stuff, This is plotless, Top Jackson, dubcon, mild power dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seriously PWP. Jackson and Stiles have sex. That's about the extent of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Jackson is wearing Stiles' Hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> Picture made by and taken from the lovely [allthesass](http://allthesass.tumblr.com/post/71604070475) (who has been feeding my Stackson addiction with many a manip, and without whom this story would never have been written (she insisted I get back into smut writing. ;D))
> 
> P.S. I think it bears saying that I have not written porn in a while.

**Why Jackson is wearing Stiles’ Hoodie:**

Jackson presses Stiles back against the lockers, letting out a small growl as he runs his nose along Stiles’ sweat soaked neck. 

Stiles’ swallows thickly, looking past Jackson’s shoulder to the empty locker room, his stomach lurching as he feels Jackson’s face push against his skin. Jackson had returned to Beacon Hills about a month ago, just in time for Lacrosse season, and he’s been acting a bit…weird ever since. 

“God, your fucking _hair._ ” Jackson huffs, tugging on the locks with his fingers. “And your fucking _smell._ ”

Stiles bites his lip, fingers twisting into Jackson’s lacrosse jersey. 

“You’re such a goddamn tease.” Jackson’s mutters, biting Stiles’ neck and pressing in closer, hard cock pushing into Stiles’ thigh. 

Stiles lets out a small laugh, because ‘tease’ is hardly a word he’d use to describe himself. It quickly turns to a groan when he feels the rough pressure of Jackson’s erection. 

“Are we really doing this?” Stiles gasps out. Jackson’s started nibbling along his neck now, running a line of harsh kisses across his jugular, and Stiles is starting to lose sight of the situation amongst the blood flowing down to his groin.

Jackson doesn’t answer, instead choosing to tug Stiles’ hair some more until his head’s fallen back against the lockers and his neck’s arched up for maximum access. Stiles lets his eyes slip shut and focuses on the burning intensity of Jackson’s mouth. His back bows just a little when Jackson’s thigh slips between his legs, a firm weight against his steadily hardening cock. 

Jackson’s breaths are harsh and Stiles can feel Jackson’s stomach expand and deflate against his own. His abs are warm and firm, and Stiles’ wishes they were naked. He wants to feel Jackson’s body, all of it, pressed against his. 

Jackson’s impatient though, tugging at Stiles’ shorts and slipping his fingers into Stiles’ mouth. 

“Suck.” Jackson orders and Stiles does, lapping at the harsh callouses on Jackson’s fingertips. Jackson’s skin is salty and a little dirty from practice, but Stiles’ doesn’t really care, not when each suck and lick makes Jackson’s hips jolt and draws a harsh breath out of the werewolf. 

Stiles should be embarrassed. And he is, to an extent – he’s not sure of what, since he really doesn’t put any stock in Jackson’s opinion of him, but his cheeks still burn and when he peaks his eyes open and sees Jackson’s harsh blue gaze fixated on his mouth, he can’t deny that small wave of self-consciousness. Stiles should also be confused, which again, he is. He actually really is, and when this is over, he’s going to have a lot of questions for Jackson, because seriously, what the hell? More than anything, though, Stiles is just unbelievably turned on. 

Jackson’s thigh rolls against Stiles’ groin and Stiles lets out a groan, clutching more tightly at Jackson’s jersey and sucking more desperately at Jackson’s fingertips. He hopes Jackson’s actually planning on putting his saliva slicked fingers to good use, because Stiles is really, really ready to have a cock up his ass. Turns out, he’s in luck.

Jackson pulls his hand away from Stiles’ mouth, fingers leaving his lips with a pop and moving down between his asscheeks, pressing up against Stiles’ entrance. Stiles maintains eye contact, watching the silent question flit across Jackson’s face. 

“Do it.” Stiles gasps out, moan slipping past his lips when Jackson complies, pressing a finger inside. It goes in easier than Jackson probably expected it to, and Stiles thinks he should probably explain that he isn’t lacking for experience at this point. On the other hand, he could just keep that to himself, because what he gets up to in his own time is none of Jackson’s business and he highly doubts Jackson gives a shit. Plus, Jackson’s eyes are flashing werewolf blue, and that kind of takes priority at the moment. “You’re not gonna eat me are you?” Stiles asks, hips rolling when Jackson presses a second finger into him. 

“I might.” Jackson grunts, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck. He sniffs along the column of Stiles’ throat, following the skin upward and nuzzling into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles’ eyes slip shut and he feels warm breaths puff against his ear. Jackson’s body shakes as he adds a third finger and Stiles wonders just how much he’s holding back. He wonders what it would be like if Jackson let go. 

“Fuck me.” Stiles gasps out before he can think much of it. Jackson freezes and Stiles huffs. 

“What?” Jackson grits, his mouth sounding a bit too full and Stiles’ opens his eyes, looking down and seeing fangs. Stiles moans.

“Come on, just do it. We’re gonna be late for class. Besides, you wouldn’t be the first.” Stiles says, and Jackson lets out a growl. 

Contrary to Stiles’ expectations, Jackson does give a shit, because he’s pulling his fingers out and pulling his waistband down, freeing his cock. Stiles doesn’t get to see it though, because rough hands wrap around the back of his thighs, lifting them quickly as Jackson moves to press his cock against Stiles’ entrance. Stiles lets out a surprised gasp, hands moving to clutch at Jackson’s shoulders as he sandwiched between the werewolf and the lockers. 

Stiles’ heart pounds and his dick twitches as Jackson spares no time in entering him, the head of his erection pushing past the tight ring of muscles and pressing into him. It’s a slow process, getting fully inside – it’s always a slow process, as far as Stiles is concerned – and by the end of it, Stiles is gritting his teeth and coated in sweat.

Jackson doesn’t ask him if he’s okay, but he does give him some time to adjust before he starts pulling out. It’s not a lot of time and Jackson’s thrusts quickly turn rough, but the burning’s oddly pleasurable. It’s a good thing Stiles’ gets off on pain, because Jackson’s fangs sink into his shoulder and Stiles feels the distinct press of werewolf claws into the back of his thighs. 

Stiles’ nails dig into Jackson’s shoulder blades and his back arches, mouth falling open on a series of disjointed moans and whimpers. Jackson pounds forward, cock brushing against Stiles’ prostrate and Stiles cries out. 

“Fuck, Stiles.” Jackson growls. 

“I – nnh! – I believe that’s – god – what you’re doing.” Stiles manages, legs clutching at Jackson’s hips as he plows into him. 

Jackson doesn’t respond, just continues to fuck into him. 

Stiles loses himself in the rhythm, mind fogging over and body burning from pleasure. He’s vaguely surprised that no one’s come into the locker room – especially Coach – and he realizes they’re both probably, definitely late for class at this point. He also really, really doesn’t care. 

Stiles’ ass is throbbing, hole clutching and squeezing around Jackson’s dick. His cock is trapped between both their bodies, rubbing against Jackson’s and his jerseys, and it’s maddening just how little he can do in this position, unable to stroke himself or maneuver in any way past gripping helplessly at Jackson. The werewolf has him pinned and Stiles would be lying if he said it wasn’t the hottest thing in the world. 

Stiles shakes, desperate to come at this point. He feels raw and split open, his body burning and covered in sweat and all of his muscles starting to protest from being trapped in the same position. Precum leaks steadily from his cock and he can barely breathe at this point, stomach tensing as his orgasm builds. 

Jackson growls and grunts against Stiles’ neck. “So fucking hot. So _stupidly_ fucking hot.” Jackson babbles, and Stiles is more than a little sure that he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Been wanting to fuck you all month. Mine. All mine.” Jackson says, biting possessively at Stiles’ throat. 

“Oh my god.” Stiles moans, body tensing up. That really shouldn't be hot. Jackson’s an asshole, and that really shouldn’t be hot. 

“Yes.” Jackson hisses. “Come on.” He urges, because he can probably smell just how close Stiles is.

Stiles tries to hold on longer, just to spite him, but Jackson growls “Mine” again and Stiles goes off like a firework, mouth opening on a silent ‘O’ and cum splattering on both their jerseys. It’s intense and seems to last for hours, Jackson’s continued thrusts only adding to the sensation, and by the end Stiles is left a tingling mess. Jackson comes soon afterwards, warm liquid filling Stiles, and Stiles’ stomach flips when he realizes he’s going to have that inside him all day. It’s simultaneously gross and sexy.

It’s a while before they pull away from each other, and a chill travels down Stiles’ spine when the cool air brushes against his sweat-soaked skin. Jackson coughs, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes and looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Jackson turns, heading towards his locker. Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes and hiking up his shorts. He opens his own locker, reaching in for his towel and turning towards the shower stalls.

“No.” Jackson says quickly. 

Stiles looks over at Jackson, raising an eyebrow.

“I want you smell like me.” Jackson says, his cheeks colouring pink in embarrassment, though he looks like he’s trying to hide it.

“Smell like you?” Stiles echoes.

“Yes. You should smell like me. It’s only proper that we…smell like each other.” Jackson says.

Stiles frowns. “Why?” 

“Oh come on Stilinski, don’t make me spell it out for you.” Jackson snaps, turning back to his locker.

Stiles stands frozen for a moment, debating whether to go shower anyway, before he shrugs and retreats. It’s gross, pulling his clothes on over the sweat and grime and cum, but it’s kind of arousing and Stiles is maybe a little more okay than he should be with carrying Jackson’s scent around with him. 

Stiles jumps when a pale arm reaches past him and into his locker, pulling out his red hoodie. 

“Hey!” Stiles protests, looking over at Jackson. 

Jackson shrugs. “You ruined my Lacrosse jersey. Consider it payback.” 

Jackson proceeds to wear Stiles’ hoodie for the rest of the day. Stiles doesn’t actually mind.


End file.
